


With the Cat in the Room

by Moorishflower



Series: A Cold Academic Hell [23]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-14
Updated: 2011-04-14
Packaged: 2017-10-18 08:38:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moorishflower/pseuds/Moorishflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not that Dean hates cats, it's that he hates <i>a</i> cat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With the Cat in the Room

They’re lying on Castiel’s couch (Castiel still won’t let him into his bedroom), and Dean can hear the sounds of Gabriel moving around in the kitchen, the clatter of dishes and silverware being taken out, jars being moved around. Castiel says, without looking up, or even opening his eyes, “This is his third sandwich today.”

“Huh?”

Castiel cracks open one eye. His head is resting on Dean’s chest, their legs tangled together, and Dean knows that if he stays like this for any great length of time he’ll end up getting a crick in his neck, but he doesn’t care.

“When Gabriel is feeling uneasy, he makes sandwiches. When he is not hungry, he gives them to his dog.”

“He’s got a dog?”

“Yes, his name is Joker. He is…excitable, and is not allowed in the house.”

Dean strokes his finger down Castiel’s cheek, stubble catching against his skin. “Why’s he so stressed?”

“He is experiencing difficulties with his partner, I believe. Gabriel sometimes has…issues…with intimacy.”

“As in, wants it too quickly or not at all?”

“I believe the appropriate expression is ‘once bitten, twice shy.’ Our family made it difficult for him to form romantic attachments as a young man. I believe he is still responding negatively to this.”

“So the problems are his?”

“Unfortunately.” Castiel stretches like a happy cat, rubbing their feet together. Dean is wearing socks, while Castiel is barefoot. He seems to like the difference in texture. “However, I believe they will work through their differences. Gabriel’s partner is strong-willed.”

“Someone I know?”

Castiel turns his head, resting his cheek against Dean’s chest. “That is Gabriel’s story to tell, I believe, not mine.”

“Mysterious. I get it, though.” Dean grins, and then tugs Castiel up by his arms, tilting his head back. “How about a distraction?”

Castiel huffs. “A distraction? You are inccorigable.”

“Says the guy who won’t invite me in for a cup of coffee.”

“Is this one of your euphemisms?” Smiling, Castiel leans up, their noses brushing. “You know my thoughts on this. Not until you are ready.”

“And I keep telling you…”

Castiel doesn’t give him the chance to finish, pressing his lips to Dean and cutting him off mid-sentence. Dean makes a soft, protesting sound, which almost immediately fades into a pleased hum. He curls his hands over Castiel’s shoulders, and then slides them down, down, to touch the tuck of his waist. He inches his fingers underneath the hem of Castiel’s shirt – even on his day off, he wears dress shirts in the house – to feel the warm skin underneath. Dean presses his thumb to the jut of Castiel’s hipbone and…

“ _Ahem_.”

He stops, pulling away from Castiel with a soft, wet _smack_ of their lips. They both look up at the same time to see Gabriel standing over them, a plate in one hand and an insufferable smirk on his face.

“Do I need to get out the hose?” he asks, primly, and then immediately destroys his own façade by snickering. “Seriously, this is what, the third time? Get a room already.”

“I have a room,” Castiel says. “That is not, however, where I wish to be at this moment.”

“Suit yourself, lovebirds. I’m heading outside. Don’t do anything I would do, I’d like to sit on that couch at some point in the future.”

Still smirking, Gabriel takes his plate of sandwiches and leaves, padding barefoot back through the kitchen. A moment later there’s the sound of a door opening and then swinging shut. Dean hums softly, tucking his thumb under the waist of Castiel’s slacks.

“Where were we?”

“You were about to continue kissing me,” Castiel says, matter-of-factly, and then he dives back in.

Dean used to think of himself as the leisurely make-out king, especially back in high school when he didn’t always have the extra money for condoms and another hotel room, but Castiel proves him wrong in so many different ways that it’s not even funny. Castiel likes slow, easy kisses, open-mouthed and wet but no deeper than that. He likes it when Dean runs his tongue along his bottom lip, but any further and he pauses, and Dean has to retreat. He lets Dean touch him, while they’re making out, a hand against the wiry hair on his belly and another curled against his hip, but Castiel rarely touches Dean in return. Sure, he grabs his shoulders, touches Dean’s neck, his sides, but never under his clothes, never skin to skin. It frustrates Dean, but at the same time it’s like…it’s like getting a peek at a present before you actually get to unwrap it. It’s exciting in its own way.

“I’ll bet you’re gorgeous without this on,” Dean murmurs, plucking at the hem of Castiel’s shirt. “Bet you’re…”

“ _Mrow_.”

Dean freezes, hands still underneath Castiel’s clothes. He peers over the edge of the couch.

Two bright blue eyes peer back up at him. Stuart sits on the floor next to the couch, tail lashing slightly, glaring at them. Dean clears his throat.

“Uh,” he says, and Castiel sighs.

“Stuart, please leave. Dean and I are busy.”

The cat’s tail lashes harder. He meows again, louder this time, more plaintive. Castiel frowns. “ _Stuart_.”

In response, the cat crouches, pupils dilated to the point that they look like black holes in the cat’s face. A moment later, they both grunt as Stuart leaps from the floor to Castiel’s back.

“Stuart!” Dean complains, but the cat doesn’t listen to him, instead settling down into a grey little ball, closing his eyes, and beginning to purr. Castiel huffs laughter against Dean’s cheek.

“You see? Stuart feels the same as I do. When you are ready.”

“I can’t make out with you with the cat sitting on top of you!”

Another laugh, and Castiel kisses the corner of Dean’s mouth, and then he leans up, kissing the corner of his eye. The movement jostles Stuart, who meows plaintively.

“Perhaps that is a good thing,” he murmurs. “For now, at least. Lay with me, Dean.”

Dean grumbles, slightly, under his breath, but he winds his hands around Castiel’s waist and settles back, prepared for a crick in his neck and possibly more than one limb falling asleep. Stuart purrs, loudly, extravagantly, nestled at the small of Castiel’s back, and Castiel himself looks…content. His eyes are closed, his cheek pressed to Dean’s chest, his breathing soft and even.

Sighing quietly, Dean kisses the crown of Castiel’s head and then closes his eyes as well.


End file.
